


Your Eyes Are Like Starlight

by blackwidowmovie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Harry is a single dad, Loosely inspired by the singing elves in The Santa Clause, Louis is a Christmas elf, Love Actually is not an appropriate movie for toddlers, M/M, fluffy fluff fluff, sorry - Freeform, stereotypical Christmas songs, things move unrealistically fast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwidowmovie/pseuds/blackwidowmovie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s not sure what the proper greeting for fit boys in his house in the middle of the night is. Probably “what are you doing in my house”, but he can’t really think straight because the boy is unexpectedly drop-dead gorgeous.<br/>And sparkly.<br/>(AU where Louis is a Christmas elf.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indierection (amandamoraisa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandamoraisa/gifts).



> Based on this prompt: “Christmas Elf AU - Kid Fic - Louis is one of Santa Claus elves and for the first time he's going to help his boss to deliver all the presents. Everything runs relatively smoothly (he does have to deal with some dogs, but than again, he's so full that he can't even smell cookies anymore, so that's a win). That is, until he bumps into Harry. Louis knows he should charm him and put him to sleep, but the man is genuinely really nice. They talk about Harry's daughter and... idk. Just something fluff and flirty and very Christmasy.” I tried my best. Hope you have a lovely holiday season. <3 xx

#### December 24

“ _Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house_ …” Harry reads slowly, only half focused on the familiar poem. He watches his 4-year-old daughter out of the corner of his eye, her curly blonde hair splayed around her head on her pillow like a halo, her brown eyes flickering between drooping tiredly and lighting up with interest as he reads: “ _All the stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in the hopes that Saint Nicholas_ _soon would be there_.” He makes sure she can see the pictures.

“That’s Santa,” Mia interrupts to inform him, pointing with a tiny finger.

“Mhm,” Harry agrees, making to turn the page.

“When will Santa be here?”

“When you’re asleep,” says Harry, sort of proud of himself for this logic. He doesn’t think she’ll actually stay up all night, but she might try. “If you want to get presents, you have to be good and go to sleep.”

Mia doesn’t say anything, but he can tell she’s kind of annoyed. They'd had a lengthy and serious discussion earlier in the day of what qualified as “good” and they had also debated when exactly Santa finalized the Nice List. Mia argued that he already knew who was on the Nice List when he left the North Pole, therefore if she stayed up all night, Santa wouldn’t care. Harry managed to convince her that it would contribute to her being on the Naughty List _next year_ if she stayed up tonight, so he thinks it’s settled.

He tries to start reading again, but he’s interrupted.

“Daddy?”

“What, love?”

“Remember when we hung up our stockings with care?”

They had, in fact, hung up their stockings with care, about a half hour earlier. So much care that he almost set his on fire, but the near-crisis had been averted, which is good because he thinks the neighbors might have started to worry if their smoke detector had gone off again. (They’d also spent half their day baking sugar cookies, a task Harry was more than up to since he used to be a baker. Except Harry may have accidentally let the first batch burn because they were distracted by _Love Actually_. Okay, _Harry_ was distracted by _Love Actually_. But it was the Keira Knightley part with the signs. Mia had been coloring. In the end, though, they were able to set out a ridiculously large tray of festively decorated cookies. Harry sort of wishes Santa would actually show up tonight, because he needs to make a lot of cookies disappear.)

“Yes, our stockings are hung with care, Mia.”

“Do you think Santa puts presents under the tree first or in the stockings first?”

“I – ” Harry frowns. He’s honestly not sure.

“Daddy?” Her tiny hand tugs on his curls.

“Mia?”

“Um, it’s okay. I think I’m going to get a lot of presents.”

He opens his mouth to say something about unrealistic expectations, but then he decides not to correct her. She _is_ going to get a lot of presents. He keeps reading instead.

“ _The children were nestled all snug in their beds_ ,” he taps her nose, “ _while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads_.”

“Daddy?”

“What, love?”

“What’s ‘sugarplums’?”

It takes another thirty minutes to get through the rest of the story, but it’s worth watching her dreamy excitement fade into an innocent, peaceful sleep; she’s yawning like a sleepy kitten with her nose all scrunched up by the time Santa comes down the chimney, and snoring softly as Harry finally whispers, “ _Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good nigh_ t.” He closes the book gently and kisses her forehead, placing it back on the bookshelf and turning off the light on his way out.

“Good night, Princess Mia,” he says quietly, then closes the door behind him. He can’t wait until she’s old enough to appreciate _The Princess Diaries._ Come to think of it, maybe he’ll buy it for her for Christmas next year.

He walks down the hall to his own room, where all of Mia’s presents are carefully hidden in the closet. There are least twenty wrapped gifts, plus a teddy bear that’s bigger than Mia and a toy train that will go around the tree. He wonders if buying both the Elsa _and_ Anna dolls from Frozen was too much, but then again, he doesn’t really do things halfway. Not for Mia, anyway.

He prances back down the stairs, the large house greeting him with silence other than the slowly crackling fire in the den, warm and cozy. (Mia had warned him no less than six times to put out said fire before Santa came down the chimney.) Their tall Christmas tree is overcrowded with decorations, all shiny ornaments and handmade creations including a popcorn garland strung around the bottom half of the tree, where Mia is able to reach.

After they open presents in the morning, Mia will head to Cara’s for the day, and Harry will be spend the holiday with Gemma and his parents. He and Cara get along well, have since high school. They were just too young, too not in love, and too gay, really, to have been happy raising a child together, so they make this arrangement work instead.

Harry looks around at the massive pile of presents, the tray of too many cookies, the giant tree. Even from outside, the neighbors can probably see how much he spoils his daughter. Mia had chosen their outdoor decorations, so their house has blue lights on the mailbox and a wreath on a tree and white lights around the front door. Inside, the windows are decorated with hand-made snowflakes he’d shown her how to make earlier, and the doorway is hung with mistletoe because she’d read about it at school and wanted to know what it was.

It’s warm and festive and frankly, too quiet, so he puts on his favorite Christmas playlist before reaching for a cookie as he starts placing presents under the tree. 

 

*

Louis is going to die.

He’s going to fucking die on Christmas Eve because it’s so damn cold. And he lives in the North Pole, okay, it’s always really fucking cold, but this is something new. His teeth are chattering, his hands clenched and shoulders tense. Not to be overdramatic, but if it starts snowing, he will likely freeze and die cold and alone, accompanied only by this ridiculous bag of presents and some questionably trained reindeer. He’ll be a tiny elf popsicle on someone’s roof.

How depressing.

And he’s only been in this stupid sleigh for an hour.

He wonders if it’s frowned upon to steal blankets from the homes where he’s leaving presents. That’s not _bad_ , right? It’s kind of neutral. A fair exchange, even. Louis is perpetually on the verge of joining the Naughty List, though, so he probably shouldn’t risk it. A snowflake hits his nose. He’s probably going to risk it.

He checks his watch. It’s nearly midnight now in London, his last stop. This has got to be some kind of slave labor, he thinks, sending your workers halfway around the world to stop at _every_ house with a nice kid that believes in Santa. He should definitely be getting paid overtime for this. If there was a contest for least-Christmasy elf, Louis would win. And he’s got competition  - Zayn, for example. Ever since his run-in with a handsome firefighter the year before, though, Zayn’s Christmas spirit has mysteriously soared.

“Oof!” He clutches the reins, a challenge with his small hands bundled into mittens, and yanks the reindeer to a messy halt atop an apartment building. He shakes himself, pulling his beanie down lower over his pointed ears as he lugs the stupid bag over to the chimney.

Louis can already hear a dog barking downstairs.

Great. 

*

Harry checks on Mia once more before he goes to bed satisfied that not only is he the best dad ever, he is the best Santa ever, even though he did check twice to make sure the fire was out.

Just in case.

*

Louis hits London a little early, actually, around one in the morning. He’s tired and his toes are never going to thaw and he doesn’t even want to think about what his hair looks like under his beanie. That dog almost killed him before he used magic on it to put it to sleep (sleep, okay? It’s just in a really, really long sleep). Also, it’s fucking _snowing_ in England, how charming, which means that his hat is coated in snow within minutes and providing more of a risk to his health than actual warmth. He refuses to take it off. It’s better than the alternative.

He’s halfway through the city when they skid to a stop on top of a surprisingly large home with only one child. _Mia Anne Styles-Delevigne_. _Quite a name_ , Louis thinks. 4 years old. Nice list, of course. The house is dark and quiet. 

Shouldn’t be a problem.

 

*

Harry startles awake, breathing hard into the darkness, unsure what woke him. His first instinct is to check on Mia, but then –

 _Crash_.

Definitely downstairs. Followed by a very distinct thud and what sounds like his curtains being torn down.

Harry sits up, heartbeat loud in his ears.

He’s out of bed before he can think about it too much, yanking on the nearest pair of sweatpants and padding down the hall softly with bare feet to check on Mia anyway. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her safe in her bed, still fast asleep.

Awake and alert now, he makes his way to the stairs, and he can still hear someone shuffling around. Murderer? Thief? He chalks it up to tiredness when his brain suggests, _Santa?_

It’s only when he’s already tiptoed down to the bottom step that he realizes he doesn’t have like, a weapon or anything. He considers making his way to the kitchen to find a knife, but it’s not very polite to stab someone on Christmas Eve, is it? Then again, it’s not polite to break into peoples’ houses on Christmas Eve, either. The point is, Harry doesn’t really have a plan of attack here. He’s kind of hoping that this is a dream.

When he reaches the landing, he automatically reaches for the light switch, stopping himself as he decides a surprise attack in the dark is better, even if he’ll probably trip over one or three things and give himself away. He can hear rustling from the den, where the tree is. It’s still dark, though; apparently the thief didn’t want to turn on the lights either. Is this person stealing presents? What on Earth…

His skin is tingling with nerves, heart pounding so loudly he’s sure the other person can hear it. He can’t see a thing, making his way along the familiar hallway in the dark, using the wall for guidance. He tries to breathe quietly. He isn’t too worried about being heard, though – the thief clearly isn’t concerned. He hears the soft tinkle of a bell like they just walked into the tree, followed by another soft thud.

Taking a deep breath, Harry turns the corner, reaches for the light -

And then he crashes into someone. Startled, Harry lets out a rather embarrassing yelp and says, “Oops,” and the other person curses under their breath and Harry thinks wildly, _Santa definitely doesn’t swear_. His pulse is racing under his skin and he’s trying to decide whether or not now is an appropriate time to throw a punch (he’s always been a bit of a pacifist anyway) when the lights flicker on unexpectedly, and he finds himself face to face with sparkling blue eyes and tan skin and a stunning smile.

“Hi,” says the stranger brightly.

Harry isn't sure what the proper greeting for fit boys in his house in the middle of the night is. Probably “what are you doing in my house”, but he can’t really think straight because the boy is unexpectedly drop-dead gorgeous.

And _sparkly_.

*

“Hi,” Louis repeats breathlessly, brushing his hair away from his forehead automatically as he takes in the surprised, shirtless man before him. Louis is only a little annoyed at being caught; it wasn’t really his fault he’d been making so much noise. Maybe if there weren’t so many presents already under this giant tree he wouldn’t have tripped…. “Shit, I’m not supposed to talk to you.” _Or your abs_. _Hi._

“What?”

“I’m just supposed to drop off the presents and leave,” Louis explains patiently while objectively observing the way the man's sweatpants sit low on his hips, emphasizing the dark ink of the laurels tattooed there. His gaze travels up to the butterfly tattoo, the swallows adorning his collarbones, the innocent-looking curls framing a young, handsome, confused face.

“Oh my God, you think you’re an elf.” His pretty green eyes widen as he takes in Louis’s outfit choice. His uniform, okay, it’s a uniform. He doesn’t wear leggings all the time.

 Just on special occasions.

Anyway, this is the part of the conversation where Louis is supposed to use his magic on the person who caught him to make them think it was just a dream, or that it never happened at all. But then again, Louis doesn’t want to go back outside where it’s cold and he’s almost done anyway and against his better judgment, he keeps talking.

“I _am_ an elf, Curly,” says Louis, insulted. He points to his ears.  “See?”

He gets another once-over in return, and he’s starting to blush now. This is not what he signed up for. These people are supposed to be asleep, not awake and staring at him with princess eyes and judging his elf…ness.

“That really doesn’t prove anything,” Curly says finally, and then he crosses his arms and pouts.  Like he wants Louis to actually prove it to him. “How do I know you’re not just breaking into my house?”

“Who breaks into someone’s house _with_ presents?” Louis points out logically, gesturing to the giant fucking bag he just had to coax down the chimney without breaking anything.

“So you admit you broke into my house.”

“No, I – well, yes, but – I brought presents!”

“Where did you get those? They’re very convincing.”

Louis frowns until he realizes the man is staring at his ears. “They’re real, you twat.” He really should just charm him, put him back to sleep.

“I don’t think real Christmas elves say swear words.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “How the fuck do you think I got down your chimney, if not by magic?” he demands, crossing his arms.  “I don’t exactly have a skinny arse.”

             

*

 

The thing is, Harry has noticed this in the short time that they’ve known each other, in this strange space of four or five minutes. The elf boy does _not_ have a skinny arse. He’s proper fit, dressed in frankly scandalous leggings and a cute Christmas jumper and… breaking into Harry’s house in the middle of the night, right.

“You curse a lot for an elf,” Harry says carefully, still unconvinced and a bit aghast at the fact that he’s gradually _being_ convinced that this person is actually one of Santa’s elves.

“What did you bloody expect, a little old man? The Keebler elf? I don’t live in a fucking tree,” Louis grumbles, and proceeds to snatch a sugar cookie from the plate Harry and Mia had set out earlier, examining it closely before taking a defiant bite, raising his eyebrows at Harry while he chews.

Harry doesn’t answer, fishmouthing a bit before deciding to stay quiet. He isn’t sure what he’d expected an elf to look like, actually, but it wasn’t a beautiful boy with sparkly eyes and pointy ears.

“Or Santa?  The man himself?” The elf asks through a mouthful of crumbs, even as he carefully chooses the biggest cookie from the pile and stuffs it unceremoniously in his pocket for later. “He can’t get everywhere in one night. Needs a bit of help, doesn’t he?”

“Wouldn’t know,” says Harry honestly.  And then, frowning, he adds slowly, “Um. Santa isn’t real.”

The elf’s blue eyes widen. “Come off it, you don’t mean that, Styles, do you? He’d be a bit offended, and so would Mia.”

“How the hell did you know my-?”

“She’s on the Nice List,” he interrupts, “’s why I’m here, innit?”

Harry doesn’t know. It does appear that he came down his chimney, and his pointy ears are pretty convincing, but that doesn’t mean - he shakes himself. Meanwhile, the elf gestures to the pile of presents under the tree and repeats, “She’s on the Nice List.”  And then he grumbles, “Unlike some people I know.”

Wait. What?

“What?”

“If you don’t believe in Santa, how can you expect him to put you on the nice list?” he asks, and Harry wants to laugh at how serious he looks.

“Did you check to see if I’m on it?” Harry asks. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I – fine.”

“It’s Harry.” 

“Louis.” _Lou-wee_. Like, French or something. Pretty name, pretty boy. Harry has to bite his lip to keep himself from repeating it aloud.

“Are you on the nice list, Louis?” Harry asks, mostly just to say his name. He’s also getting braver now that it’s clear that whether or not Louis is a real elf, he’s completely unthreatening.

“Of course,” Louis looks offended. “Actually, come to think of it, I shouldn’t brag. It’s bullshit, really, because with the number of pranks I’ve pulled I should be back on -”

“You were on the naughty list?” Harry interrupts, now thoroughly amused. He can imagine Louis, sparkly, tiny Louis, being an absolute menace and getting away with it by flashing a pretty smile. “Have you been very naughty this year?"

“I - “ Louis’s eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “Was that supposed to be a come on?”

In his defense, Harry didn’t expect an _elf_ be so pretty.

“Is it working?” Harry asks, taking a step forward. He can’t keep the smile off his face; Louis is just really _cute_.

And he broke into Harry’s house and if he had a shred of sense he would be on the phone with the police, not standing here flirting with him.

But now Louis is _blushing_.

“Er, I don’t think I’mss, supposed to, er.”

Harry is a foot away from him when he asks curiously, “How are elves different from humans, then? You look human to me.”

“Well, we're not, um, really,” Louis stutters, clearing his throat, “er. Just, pointy ears and I work for Santa. Other than that, we’re pretty much the same.”

“Bit short,” Harry comments, then grins at the way Louis’s nose scrunches up in disdain. “And you have sparkly eyes. Normal people’s eyes don’t... twinkle like that.”

“Is it working?” Louis mimics him from earlier, batting his eyelashes.

Harry nods, biting down on a cheeky smile as Louis frowns. “I’m not here to seduce you, you pervert,” he says haughtily while Harry laughs, and moves past Harry to continue placing presents under the tree. He pauses when he sees the ones already there. He smiles at the teddy bear but frowns at a large, misshapen package wrapped in cheerful red paper. “What is _that_?”

“It’s a dollhouse!” says Harry excitedly. “It’s Barbie’s dream house. It’s the exact one she wanted. I went to like, six different stores. Wrapped it myself,” he adds proudly, then watches Louis’s eyebrows disappear into his hair judgmentally, before he slowly extracts several smaller, more neatly wrapped gifts from his bag.

“What are those?” Harry demands. Mia is more spoiled than he thought, apparently.

“Some books and things,” says Louis vaguely, inching around the tree to find places to put them without disturbing the rather ridiculous number of ornaments adorning it.

“Anything for me?” Harry jokes, peering into the bag curiously. Louis snatches it away.

“Hey! Didn’t we already talk about this? You’re clearly on the…” Louis trails off, as Harry reaches in and pulls out a distinctly CD-shaped gift clearly labeled _Harry_. “…Naughty List,” Louis frowns. “Seriously?”

 *

“What?”

“Do you believe in Santa?” Louis demands. Then he shakes his head. “Shit, of course you do, you can see me.”

“Er, should I not be able to?” Harry returns, clearly confused.

“Not many people your age still believe in…” he muses, trailing off when he realizes Harry looks offended, getting all pouty with a little crinkle between his eyebrows.

Which is.  

Adorable.

But Harry is cuter when he was smiling with irresistible dimples denting his cheeks, so Louis rushes to add, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.  I’m just surprised, sorry.” Harry had, after all, already bought innumerable presents for his frankly angelic daughter, who is high up on the Nice List. Louis can hardly blame him. Harry doesn’t know that the presents Louis brought are charmed, so that Harry will have false, vague memories of purchasing them. It helps keep the adults sane. Apparently, though, Harry isn’t too alarmed by learning that Santa and his elves are very much real. Louis glances back at the giant pile of cookies. Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. Harry seems like kind of a lovely person, really.

Louis shivers then. It’s warmer in Harry’s house than it was outside, obviously, but a chill seems to have settled in his bones.

Of course, Harry notices.

“Are you cold?” he asks, moving toward the fireplace. He looks legitimately concerned. “Have you been outside all night? Christ, it’s snowing. Let me get you -”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Louis cuts him off, even though he’s totally, overwhelmingly charmed.

“I have hot chocolate,” Harry threatens.

“I’m really fine Harold, I don’t need – ”

“Your hands are shaking.”

“They are not –” Louis inhales sharply when Harry’s big, warm hands actually envelop his own tiny, cold, elf popsicle ones. Oh.

Rather than looking like he’s proved his point, though, Harry only looks more worried.

“You can stay a little longer, right?” Harry asks then, looking surprisingly concerned for someone who didn’t believe in elves ten minutes ago. Louis’s small hands are still in his, warming up slowly as he steals Harry’s body heat. Louis is not thinking about how big Harry’s hands are.

Nope.

“I really can’t stay,” says Louis reluctantly, realizing his mistake too late when Harry grins all frog-like and dimply. It’s a bit scary how endearing he is considering he is a grown man. 

“But baby, it’s cold outside,” Harry sings, starting to sway back and forth.

Oh God.

Oh no.

“I’ve got to go away,” Louis grumbles, both because it’s true and he is an elf and he cannot resist a good Christmas carol, even an untimely one.

“What was that, love?” Harry asks, still smiling, still holding Louis’s hands ridiculously, probably about to literally sweep him off his feet. Louis isn’t ready. Louis isn’t prepared for duets and curls and young men that smell like fresh-baked cookies.

He has a feeling such young men only come around once in a while, though, so he goes for it.

“ _I’ve got to go away_ …” he says, more melodically this time. Harry gets so excited that Louis is singing along that he actually spins him around, and Louis yelps.

“But, baby it’s cold outside…”

“ _This evening has been_ …” Louis hates himself. He hates Christmas and he hates Harry, who easily pulls Louis into his arms, back to (bare and surprisingly warm) chest.

“Been hoping that you’d drop in.” _Oh, really?_

“… _So very nice_ …”

“I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice…”

“ _My mother will start to worry_ ,” Louis sings.

“Beautiful, what’s your hurry?” _Call me beautiful again._

“ _My father will be pacing the floor_ …”

“Listen to the fireplace roar,” Harry sings. If Louis even cared about this stupid song a little bit, he would have noticed that he and Harry both have nice voices. Nice singing voices.  That sound nice. Together.

“ _So really, I’d better scurry_ …” _Ten minutes ago_.

“Beautiful, please don’t hurry.” _There it is._

“ _Well, maybe just a half a drink more_ …”

Louis is warm and a little dazed with the way that Harry has his arms wrapped around him and is swaying them back and forth and singing in his ear and he can feel Harry’s voice rumble through his chest and it’s just all really nice and –

“Louis!”

“ _The neighbors might think_ … sorry, what?”

“I forgot, you said you want hot chocolate.” Louis said no such thing. Harry lets him go and Louis turns to face him, more than a little cold and disappointed, pouting. Louis hasn’t actually said that he could stay, either, although he has to admit that this is clearly the better option. The real world is nasty and cold; in here, there are cuddles and cookies and songs.

“What?”

“Do you like marshmallows?” Harry asks rather aggressively, halfway to the kitchen already.

“Um, okay.”

Apparently, Harry was only in such a rush to get Louis warm not so he could kick the elf out of his house and send him on his way, as Louis originally thought, but so that they could cuddle by the fire. Because ten minutes later, Louis has a steaming cup of hot cocoa in his sweater paws, one of those really soft fleece blankets draped around his shoulders, and his sock-clad feet stuck out in front of him, warming up by the fire, which Harry kindly relit just for him after Louis explained that it wouldn’t hinder his escape from the house. And as if that isn’t enough, Harry returns with his own mug (and a shirt on, sadly) and settles down behind him, so that Louis can lean back against his chest. And _then_ he asks, “Is this okay?”

Harry is amazing.

Instead of replying aloud, Louis curls up like a kitten and steals all of Harry’s body heat, which he figures he might as well as long as he can get away with staying here and Harry is offering it up. 

“Tell me a story,” Harry says, and Louis wants to object. Harry should tell a story so Louis can feel his chest do the voice-rumble thing again and watch him dimple at his own jokes. “Tell me about you,” Harry clarifies, “so I know I’m not dreaming.”

Louis laughs at that. _Some dream_. “Well, um. I live in the North Pole.”

He tells Harry about his mum and his five sisters and one tiny, tiny brother, who are all so amazing. He explains that while not all elves are Christmas elves, Louis knew that’s what he wanted to be because he loves kids, and what’s better than making and delivering presents to happy little kids? As it turns out, the job is ideal, except for the part where he freezes his arse off. This is his first year delivering presents and he has a scar from that dog to show for it.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so cold.”

“You live in the North Pole!”

Louis then tries to explain to Harry why it’s colder flying around the sky than in the North Pole itself (it’s very windy, okay, and this is all not to mention what it does to his _hair_ ). While he’s a patient listener, Harry also keeps handing Louis homemade cookies, which is sort of counter-productive to the storytelling. He gets around to telling Harry about how Santa is less friendly than you’d expect but the elves are more friendly than you’d expect and how even though pointy ears and short stature are the norm up there, he’s still small for his age. He talks about his best mate, Zayn, and tells the funny story about the family having to call the fire department because he knocked over a ~~fancy~~ candle, and how the firefighter accidentally saw Zayn and first thought he was an angel, not an elf. Louis couldn’t honestly blame him.

“But,” he explains, “not for me, personally, like. Zayn’s gorgeous, but not my type. We’re almost too similar, you know?”

He tells Harry there’s a lot to explain about being an elf, too much to explain in one night. It’s the first time either of them mentions it like that, as if there might be another night. Louis can't bring himself to think about it too much, about the way he feels remarkably comfortable with this person he just met, how he feels... whatever. For now, Louis slowly sips his hot chocolate, and he watches the way the fire reflects in Harry’s eyes, committing it to memory.

Harry tells Louis about his mum, dad, Gemma, and Niall, about Cara and Mia and where everyone fits in. He always wanted to be a dad; he just wasn’t expecting it to happen when it did. When Harry talks about Mia, his eyes light up with enthusiasm and sincerity, and his hand gestures get wider and more emphatic. It isn’t hard to see that he completely adores her (Louis guessed as much from the number of presents under the tree, but now he realizes Harry is wrapped around her little finger).

Harry hands him another cookie, even though Louis’s already had like, twelve, and he hasn’t even finished half of his hot chocolate because he was talking so much.

“We made these today,” says Harry, and then he tells Louis about the fire fiasco and then Louis is doubled over laughing at the image of Harry tearing up at _Love Actually_ while smoke billows out of the oven behind him.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” he insists, but he did have the use the fire extinguisher. It was a little embarrassing, especially since he used to be a baker. And _that_ sets off a whole new conversation because Harry’s enthusiasm for baking knows no bounds, apparently. Louis is wholly supportive of this particular hobby, since these cookies are absolutely to die for. He has a half-formed plan to dump the rest of them in his bag when Harry isn’t looking, actually, a plan that is soon foiled by the fact that they eat them all.

*

Harry likes the way that Louis’s voice is high and soft in his ear and the way Louis fits against his chest like he belongs there. He likes how Louis pulls the sleeves of his jumper over his hands and clutches his hot cocoa like a lifeline (somewhere in the midst of his storytelling, he lets slip that he prefers tea). He likes the way Louis talks more quietly about his mum and more loudly about Zayn and his firefighter and Harry likes the way that Louis mocks him for liking to bake while picking out another cookie.

Harry likes Louis, he reckons.

*

Louis likes Harry. He bets Harry is the kind of person who would make him pancakes in the morning if he could stay over. Louis nearly groans aloud at the mental reminder that he _can’t_ stay over, that at some point he has to go back outside to that awful, terrible place. The reindeer have actually been stomping on the roof demandingly for the last twenty minutes but he managed to convince Harry it was thunder, even though he’s pretty sure thunder-snowstorms aren’t like, a thing.

He’ll leave soon, really. As soon as Harry goes to sleep and more than likely assumes that Louis doesn't exist.

Right.

He’s nearly talked himself into standing when he hears the starting notes of –

“Mariah Carey? Really?” Louis looks at Harry over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with Mariah Carey?” Harry asks from where he was fiddling with the radio, frowning, and a little crease appears between his eyebrows. And they just can’t have that.

“Nothing, I just didn’t think you wanted to sing two duets in one night,” says Louis, putting his mug on the table and jumping to his feet.

Harry’s frown is abruptly replaced by a frog smile, which is better than the grumpy pout, Louis supposes as he straightens up to face him.

“ _Ohh,_ _I just want you for my own_ ,” Harry sings dramatically into his hand-microphone.

Louis is not endeared in the slightest. This song isn’t even that good.

“ _More than you could ever know… Make my wish come truuuuue,”_ Harry closes his eyes and hits the note, miraculously.

Louis doesn’t even know the words. He hates Christmas. Hates people. Hates Harry, who is singing and _fluttering his eyelashes_ at him… “ _All I want for Christmas… iiiiiiiissss….”_

*

“ _Yooooouuuuuu,”_ Louis jumps in with surprising enthusiasm, and Harry loves Christmas. Loves elves. Loves Louis.

“ _Oh, I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…”_ Harry and Louis sing together, Harry jumping around and dancing just because he can. By the second verse, Louis has stopped singing in favor of laughing at his lack of coordination. Harry twirls around like a ballerina and it’s so ridiculous that Louis physically falls over, clutching at his stomach.

When he’s recovered, Harry pulls him back to his feet and keeps him close, swaying to the music and singing in his ear, twirling him around at appropriate intervals.

They both try valiantly to hit the last high note, and they both fail spectacularly.

*

Louis really hates Mariah Carey. Louis can’t stop smiling. All Louis can feel is one of Harry’s hands on his waist and the other in his and Harry’s eyes really are the same color as that mistletoe and if they take like two more steps backward maybe –

*

“Daddy?”

Uh-oh. Harry should’ve known their screeching would wake someone up. He turns to find a confused Mia in the doorway, all sleepy eyes and Christmas pajamas and rumpled hair. He makes to pull away from Louis, but then he realizes that Louis… isn’t there.

Harry feels a little dizzy.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, heartbeat back in his ears. “Sorry, was, uh, the music too loud?” he babbles, trying to cover for the fact that he was singing a spectacular duet with… no one.

“Was Santa here?” she asks, concerned. “The fire’s still on.” She lifts her arms up, silently demanding.

“It’s okay, he hasn’t been here yet,” Harry says easily, moving to pick her up, dead weight in his arms in her tired state as he heads back upstairs. “I’ll put the fire out, don’t worry.”

She yawns in his ear. “Can I – can I stay up ‘n wait?”

“You have to be good and sleep if you want Santa to bring you presents,” he reminds her gently. “You’ve got to be asleep while he’s here.” It’s not much of a concern, though, because she’s already asleep on his shoulder with her thumb in her mouth. She’s so small and sweet and – Harry feels overwhelmed with love for her as he gently tucks her back into bed, heart still racing. He's just beginning to panic when - 

“She’s precious,” says a soft voice behind him, and Harry jumps about a mile.

Louis, of course, watching from the doorway.

Harry motions for him to be quiet, double checking that Mia is really sleeping and double checking that Louis is really there before closing her door quietly, leading the elf back downstairs to where the fire is still crackling, illuminating the room with warm golden light.

“Where did you go?” Harry asks, now that they’re out of earshot. And then, more nervously, “Are you even real, or am I delusional?”

Louis laughs, eyebrows raised. “Yes, I’m real,” he assures Harry. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I had to disappear because Mia isn’t supposed to see me. _You’re_ not really supposed to see me, either, really, but –”

“But?” Harry smiles.

“But you have hot chocolate,” says Louis. “And a warm fire. And dimples.”

“What was that last one?”

“And um, duets?”

Harry smiles the frog smile that shows his dimples best and Louis breaks, eyes crinkling at the corner as he _giggles_. He’s quick to twist his adorable expression into an even cuter and unconvincing pout. “What? It’s nice to have someone to sing duets with,” he says defensively, to Harry’s increasing amusement.

* 

He’s not sure how they ended up here, exactly, but here they are, and maybe it was inevitable. Louis is curled up against Harry’s chest, drifting in and out of sleep, feeling impossibly warm and safe. They’re lying in front of the low, flickering fire on top of soft blankets and random pillows. They’re so close that Louis can feel Harry’s breath tickling his ear, so close that his lips just barely brush skin there. Harry’s arm is lazily draped over his side like it maybe belongs there.

So Louis is genuinely sorry when he gently pulls away; he’s sorry when he stands up, sorry that he has to leave this perfect place that is warm and safe and comfortable in exchange for the awful outdoors, where it is freezing and evil.

Just before he goes, Louis leans down and presses his lips to Harry’s cheek, just briefly, just once, just in case.

 

#### December 25

“Did you see Santa?”

The little whisper directly in his ear is enough to startle Harry awake. He’s greeted by two big brown eyes and a soreness in his back from sleeping on the floor.

“Um,” he says, fully awake now that Mia is rather aggressively tugging on his curls in an effort to get him to sit up. As he stands, he spies the two empty mugs on the floor and frowns.

“It’s Christmas,” Mia informs him, and moves to get a start on her presents. While she’s distracted by following the train around the tree, Harry shakes himself and thinks he may have had an extremely vivid dream about a blue-eyed elf. He’s not sure why he fell asleep in front of the fireplace, though -

And then he sees the note stuck under the plate of cookie crumbs. Keeping an eye on Mia, he tugs it out and reads:

 

_I really can’t stay :( but all I want for Christmas is you xxxx – L_

 

Harry’s heart skips a beat; his eyes widen as the night before comes crashing back to him, all the way to the part where he fell asleep cuddling with Louis just about three hours ago.

He’s distracted from his confusion and inexplicable sadness when he sees Mia’s expression as she spies the giant dollhouse. She hasn’t unwrapped it yet, but she already knows what it is, eyes wide. Harry grins. “Well, what are you waiting for? Open it.”

(Ridiculously, later, after Cara picks Mia up, and before he has to leave for Cheshire, Harry walks outside and looks at the snow-covered roof. He swears he sees footprints.)


	2. Chapter 2

#### December 31

It’s not that the party isn’t exciting; it is.

Niall’s new flat is huge, the perfect place for gatherings exactly like this, with too much alcohol and a surprising number of people they’ve never met. (Harry suspects Niall may have had this exact kind of gathering in mind when he bought the place, actually.) Anyway, the party is nothing short of exuberant. Niall really went all out with the decorations, and Harry’s pretty sure he has fireworks to set off from the balcony later.

Harry has just escaped chatting with a handsome but handsy guy called Ben, downing the last of his champagne as he walks away. He settles for standing in the corner with the cat rubbing around his ankles, moodily reflecting on the depressing fact that he’s not going to be kissing anyone at midnight ( _twenty minutes_ ) because he's spent the last week pining over an elf that may have been a figment of his imagination. He flinches at the thought, sipping on the new drink in his hand.

Christmas had been fine. He spent the day with his family, and he reunited with Mia just a day later, but he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling he’d woken up with on Christmas morning: like something was missing, almost. It isn’t that he feels cold, exactly, just the absence of some warmth.

He checks his watch. _Seventeen minutes_. He sighs.

“Looking for someone to kiss, Curly?”

Harry almost chokes on his drink, spinning around so quickly he nearly gets whiplash (and very nearly kicks the cat), to find himself looking into very familiar blue eyes. 

 _Sparkly_ blue eyes.

“Louis,” he says breathlessly, taking in the sight of the older boy, all curves in a white button down and festive red  _braces_ , Christ. His pointy ears just peek out from beneath his hair. His lips are lifted in a half-smile, and his face flushes prettily as Harry stares.  

Inexplicably, Louis already has a drink in his hand. Harry wonders how long he’s been here, if he’s been watching him. If he’s talked to anyone else. Strangely, Harry feels possessive of him (for goodness’ sake, he’s the only one who knows Louis  _exists_ ).

 _“_ Well?” Louis asks with an arched eyebrow, and Harry realizes he’s still staring. 

_Fifteen minutes._

“I, er, um,” says Harry. “No, I mean yes. Maybe. Well, I was sort of hoping…” He trails off. _Hoping for this_ , if he’s honest with himself.

*

Louis puts his drink down, stepping closer. It had been a relief, honestly, to find Harry alone at the party, as terrible as that sounds. He can’t imagine it’s difficult for a guy like Harry to find someone to keep him company for a night, even if that thought makes Louis feel slightly nauseous. He dismisses the idea quickly, his heart skipping a few beats when Harry starts stuttering at the sight of him.

“Hoping for what?” he teases lightly. “Someone special to come along?”

Harry’s gaze never leaves his, green and bright in the half-light of the party. “Maybe,” he repeats, more seriously this time.

Louis blinks. Is it even remotely possible that Harry’s thought of him half as much as Louis thought of Harry in the last six days? Nonstop, really? To the point where Louis questioned his sanity, if it was creepy to have a crush on someone a million miles and a world away, if it was crazy to sneak back for just one night just for him. To seriously contemplate quitting his job and running away. For him.

*

Had Louis been thinking of Harry as well, then, if he had decided to come back to him? Harry had barely thought of anything else after he woke up alone on Christmas (and as it turns out, Heathrow Airport does _not_ have flights that go to or from the North Pole. He checked).         

“Where have you been?” Harry asks before he can think it through, quickly following up with the more important question: “How have you been?”

Louis looks nervous, almost, adjusting his fringe and glancing up at Harry through long eyelashes. “I’ve been at home,” he says carefully. “And good. I’ve been… okay, yeah.”

“Just okay?” Harry asks, heart in his throat.

“Yeah,” says Louis quietly, avoiding his gaze now, like he’s shy now that he’s just traveled an impossible distance to see Harry again. “I haven’t been sleeping that well, actually.”

“Me neither,” Harry confesses, and when Louis’s gaze meets his, he knows that however ridiculous the thought, they’re thinking the same thing.

 _Without you_.

*

“Is it weird,” Harry asks thoughtfully, “if I say that I missed you?”

Louis resists the urge to literally swoon and he smiles so hard his cheeks hurt. “I missed you, too,” he promises.

_Ten minutes._

Harry laughs, a silly grin slowly taking over his face as he moves toward Louis, only now fully realizing the implications of him being there.

“Isn’t this ridiculous? We met for one night, and I just…” He reaches forward to brush Louis’s hair behind his ear. “Can’t stop thinking about you.”

*

Louis is going to die.

His little elf heart is going to burst and he is going to melt into a little elf puddle. He should tell Harry the truth, at least, now or never.

“Why do you think I came back?” Harry’s gaze keeps flickering between Louis’s eyes and his lips and it’s very distracting. They still have nine minutes until what Louis imagines could be a dramatic midnight kiss. He licks his lips, watches Harry’s eyes track the motion. “I, um. Haven’t stopped thinking about you either, for the record. Couldn’t stay away, in the end.”

“Will you go away again?” Harry asks, like it's only just occurred to him.

“I…” _Of course not. Of fucking course I’m going to stay._ “I really can’t stay,” says Louis finally, because he’s a little shit.

And then Louis waits.

And waits.

And…

Harry finally gets it with an eyeroll to compete with Louis’s own. Harry doesn’t answer right away, just moves closer until he takes Louis's face in his hands, which isn't alarming or cute or anything. Harry kisses his nose briefly, and it definitely doesn't make Louis smile shyly. And Louis doesn't pout when Harry kisses his forehead next, then his cheek. His heartbeat doesn't speed up when Harry presses his lips to Louis's through a smile with seven minutes to midnight and Louis definitely doesn't have to kiss him again just to make him shut up after Harry pulls away and finally says, "But, baby," with a cheeky smile, "it's cold outside." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and special shoutout to Sophie and Zoe for organizing the exchange. <3 xxo

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and special shoutout to Sophie and Zoe for organizing the exchange! <3 xxo


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